


Flying Koshka: Challenge 1- Hitting Close to Home

by Extraho



Series: Gains and Losses [3]
Category: Dexter (TV), Dexter Series - All Media Types, Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Bombs, Flying Koshka, IRA - Freeform, M/M, Retaliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Extraho/pseuds/Extraho
Summary: Jax doesn’t make any effort to hide that he’s sleeping with another man. The club doesn’t care because it never touches Charming. What happens when a rival threatens to go after Jax’s lover?





	Flying Koshka: Challenge 1- Hitting Close to Home

**Author's Note:**

> So I gave my own challenge a go. Probs more to come. But C'mon folks, I'd like to hear some stories from you!

“There will be repercussions for this boy!” Galen seethed. 

#

Jax felt worry nagging at the back of his mind. Dismissing his growing ill-ease as that of the current situation, he got back to work with getting everyone settled in their lock down.

“Jax-” Juice stuck his head out of church. “Something you gotta see.”

“Can it wait?” he asked as he stood with his son. 

“I’m not sure how important this is to you, but I do not want to make that decision for you man.” 

With a frown, Jax handed Abel over to his mother and followed Juice. He arched a brow as he saw and felt the awkwardness in the room as he entered. Juice gestured to the laptop, and situated himself back in his seat.

Jax pressed the space and was faced with a video of himself with Isaak. Unfortunately, the quality was fairly good, even though it was through a window at some distance. Most of their lower halves were covered, but it was obvious what they were doing. Jax was in rocking his lap as they kissed and nuzzled. Isaak’s face was in clear view, and Jax… Jax was a hard man to mistake for someone else, even in an over-shoulder profile. His tattoos were as distinct as his sharp features and long blond hair. Watching it, Jax felt the hairs on his arms raise as his adrenaline spiked. The brutal invasion upon the intensely private moment was secondary, primary was the intense fear as he realised the implications of what he was watching. 

He slammed the laptop shut so hard it made Juice flinch. 

Jax quickly dialed Isaak’s number and got up to pace as the dial ran on. Eventually it went to voice-mail. That was not at all abnormal as Isaak spent much of his time in meeting and did not always remember to hand his phone to his assistant. Snarling, he dialed his assistants’ number and sighed in relief as it picked up on the second ring. “Where is Isaak?” he asked short, in Russian. 

“Mr. Teller. Isaak is not here. Can I take a message?”

“What do you mean-” Jax’s rising voice shook in both fear and anger, still speaking Russian, “- he is not there? Find him!” he shouted. Without looking back he stalked out into the bar, doing everything he could not to run like the devil was on his heels, lest he scare the shit out of everyone. His restraint was the only thing that made his notice the pen on the counter.

“Where did this come from?” he asked and looked at the clock? It was 19:58. 

“The delivery guy must have left it,” Gemma said, “Beer kegs came.”

“We didn’t order any beer,” Jax replied. “Fuck, everyone out!” he shouted. “Out” He turned to his mother. “Abel?” 

“Asleep upstairs!” she shouted. 

“I’ll get him. Get everyone out and away-” he turned and sprinted up the stairs.

 

He was barely ten meters from the door with his son in his arms when the bomb went off. The blast pushed him violently to the ground. 

His ears were ringing and Abel was screaming in his arms. He held his son tightly, as he didn’t know what else to do.

He sat on the ground, while his mother made sure everyone got out. 

Chibs was suddenly in front of him, shaking him lightly. Jax couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he only had one concern. “Isaak. Isaak.” He couldn’t hear his own voice, but he felt his vocal chords vibrating. Chibs pulled him to his feet and turned Jax around, pointing towards the gates. 

The gates… where Isaak stood. 

With a somewhat stunned expression on his face. 

Jax was barely aware of his feet moving. The bone deep relief as he felt Isaak arms around him and Abel nearly put his ass back on the tarmac if it hadn’t been for Isaak’s strength. 

#

“I should call Jurg and apologise,” Jax said absentmindedly as dawn approached. 

“There is no need. I’ve appraised him on the situation.” 

“I… I screwed up Isaak. The Irish did this. They sent a tape, I thought they’d go after you.”

“They did,” Isaak spoke softly. “But I don’t think their intel included that their target is a retired Russian sniper,” he chuckled. Jax looked at him oddly. “They are very dead, my dear.”

“How many?”

“Six. Jurg is handling the clean up as we speak.”

Jax’s eyes flickered to the narrow cut on Isaak’s forehead. “You’re hurt?”

“Only a small graze,” he winked. “Why has the Irish Kings made such a mess?”

“They didn’t like that we want out of guns, go legit. We’re the biggest distributors in Cali. I set them up with the Chinese, Niners and the Mayans, but they don’t want to deal with colour.”

“There are other organisations in the area…”

“The Russians don’t like us much. We smoked their management in Northern Cali after Putlova helped the guy who kidnapped Abel.”

“Putlova was dealing off the books, across unsanctioned borders. I doubt Bratva would hold it against you. For your child, they’ll understand.” 

Jax studied Isaak’s face, searching for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted. “You sound very sure of that Isaak,” he said seriously. 

Isaak smiled softly, “It is also irrelevant. You have made commitments to Lin, Alavarez and… the Niners.”

Jax tapped his fingers against his wrist sat silently. Finally, he spoke. “I think you need to tell me what you actually do for a living, Isaak. And don’t say you run nightclubs. You know way too much to be a liquor-pimp.”

“I do run night clubs,” Isaak said. Jax shot him a sharp look, so Isaak continued, “But I also run the Russian Syndicate.” 

Jax was stunned. 

Stunned. 

“You’re serious?” 

“It’s more paperwork than anything. Not nearly as bad-ass as it sounds.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I did not feel the need. My time with you was as much an escape from my responsibilities for me as it was for you. The rare times you spoke of your club, you spoke with longing to distance yourself from the less legal aspects of your business. I…” Isaak paused and looked away. “I acted cowardly in not telling you because I did not want to risk lose you.”

“I wanted a safer life for Abel…”

“If it helps, I’m mostly a glorified book keeper and boogeyman they bring out once in a while to scare the children.”

Jax snorted, “Somehow I doubt that.” Isaak shrugged. “I’m not sure what to do with this fucking mess.”

“You still have some of their men, no?”

“Yeah.”

“Call the kings.” At Jax’s questioning look, he continued. “The Irish Kings just attached the the head of the Russian Syndicate, their main supplier, in order to settle a vendetta with another crew. Calling them from your phone will give me an element of surprise.”

 

 

#

“Your men will be put on a plane back home this afternoon.”

“They’re still alive?” 

“Yes. I told you, I didn’t want to start a war.”

There was along pause before Rourke answered, “I see.”

“I have someone else affected by Galen’s actions that would like to speak with you.” Jax looked at Isaak. “I think you may know him.”

As they didn’t reply, Isaak stepped forward and spoke, “Gentlemen.” 

The silence pressed on until Rourke spoke again, his voice not as steady as it had been earlier. “Sirko.”

Isaak spoke slowly. “Indeed. In the early evening of yesterday, I had the unpleasant experience of six of your men attempting to kill me at my California abode. I was informed this was for retribution for Jacksons attempt to amicably end a souring relationship between your organisations. Their bodies will be returned to their families…” Isaak inhaled. “Now, I have been exceeding patient, allowing Jackson the professional courtesy of dealing with you himself and in face of unreasonable behaviour on part of your men, Rourke, he has been restrained and remarkably generous. In light of your unprofessional behaviour in the past years, events such as kidnapping my stepson and bombing my significant other’s place of work, while my stepson, myself and extended family were present, the Koshka Brotherhood and all affiliated partners and subsidiaries hereby cancel all ongoing and future transactions between ourselves and the IRA and all affiliated partners and subsidiaries.”

“Mr. Sirko, this will cripple our cause. We cannot -”

“Mr. Rourke,” Isaak cut him off. “I understand that these actions was not sanctioned by your table, but you must understand me: your lack of control is unacceptable and places your allies in direct line of fire- literally. It is no longer a state of affair that Koshka is willing to be affiliated with. The return of your men, both living an deceased will be arranged on our end.”

“A generous parting gift,” Rourke said, voice strained. “We are grateful for your generosity. Jackson, you have our assurances that none of this will touch your Belfast crew, sanctioned or otherwise.”

“I appreciate that,” Jax replied quietly. “Good bye.” He pressed the end-call button. 

 

#

 

“So that’s your man,” Chibs said. “Handsome.” Jax gave him a half smile. Chibs sat down and handed him a beer. “How long’s it been now?”

“Four-five years I think…”

“First time he’s in Charming?”

“Yeah.” 

“Why hasn’t he come sooner?” Jax gave his Sergeant a serious side-eye. “The bylaws?”

“The table made it pretty clear, Chibs. Out of sight, out of mind.”

Chibs gave a pained sigh. “Jax… lad…” Chibs swallowed as Jax quickly rubbed his face. Chibs could tell by the redness of his skin that it was tears he was trying to hide. “We though you were just screwing around. You love him… that changes things, lad.”

“Does it?” Jax asked roughly. “What changes, uh? Is he not gonna live in Kiev? The the club magically change the bylaws and everyone will be fine with it? From Belfast to Washington, I’d still be Redwood President. You think Galen only sent that tape to us? After how we just crippled the Kings?”

“We are Redwood,” Chibs said forcefully. “We are the founders and fathers of the Sons. You are and have always been the heir apparent. And now you are king. Jax. You have been strong. You have been steady. Even in the light of all the bullshit, Clay, betrayals, the deaths, your personal losses, you have remained steadfast, composed and clear headed. And yesterday, if it hadn’t been for your need to protect those you love, we would all be burnt to ash in the Clubhouse. Anything Galen does now will be petty. Have enough faith in your brothers that they will see that.”

“You have more faith than I do.”

“If they have any sense, they will see that Isaak makes you strong, Jax. How you handled this-” he gestured to the charred parking lot. “-proves that.” 

 

#

 

In light of the bombing of the Redwood charter, every President, VP and Sergeant of every charter gathered in Charming. They had even flown in from Belfast, London and Newcastle. 

“There needs to be repercussions! Retaliation!” 

“Retaliation has been handled,” Jax spoke. His voice was drowned out my the murmurs and chatter. He slammed the gavel down with a deafening crack that turned all attention in the room to him. He sat in his rightful place at the head of the table. “Retaliation has been handled. We have severed ties with the IRA and the Kings.”

“Sending them back alive is hardly retaliation,” Marcus said. “It’s weak.”

“It’s pure strength brother. It’s laying the blame where the blame belongs; at the feet of the Kings. Retaliation is picking on someone your own size. Executing errand boys and prospects ain’t gonna do shit but breed resentment in Belfast. I’m not so naive to think Galen will not act again, but if he does, it won’t be because I provoked him. I won’t willfully have Tully’s charter suffer the consequences of my battles. I’m not so naive to think that in Belfast, the line between Son and IRA is blunt. Families and friends across both sides would be caught in conflict, a crossfire of bullets and loyalty. Causing strife was never the goal. Ending guns was.”

Tully rose, “The Kings came to the clubhouse. Said that our President’s -” he used the honorific intentionally and with emphasis, “-was gracious and generous in his handling of Galen’s actions and provocations.” Tully turned to his brothers, “They promised, in full view of the public to honour the peaceful separation. I take this with a pinch of salt,” he said to nods an murmurs of the crowd. “Rourke spoke of gratefulness, but it wasn’t gratitude I saw in their eyes. It was defeat. And fear.” He turned to Jax. “I strongly believe that if any further retaliation is made, even if well justified, will only make it worse so much sooner. As the man on the front line; Jackson acted wise beyond his years and experience- as he always has. He only proved what we’ve been hoping for; the prince became a king we can be proud of.” 

“As long as we done have to march in a fucking Pride parade,” someone muttered. 

Jax couldn’t see who it was that said it, but he supposed now was a good time as any. He failed at suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, “You got something to say, do you mind standing up so I can actually see who’s talking to me?” 

The Sergeant of the Boston charter stood up. “Chris Damon.”

“I know who you are.” 

“And I’ve seen too much of how you spend your evenings.” 

Jax raised an amused brow, “Is there a point to your…” he waved, knowing that calling the guy out of his bitching would be counter productive to the kingly image he was crafting. 

“Look. Prez. You’ve earned your stripes, but you letting some city-slick fagot fuck you. That ain’t so cool with some of us.”

Jax pursed his lips and cocked his head, “I find your concern for who I share my bed with quite curious… which part of it ain’t cool with you? That I’m letting some city-slick fagot fuck me, or is it just that particular one?” Chibs had to clench his jaw not to laugh. 

“The former.”

“Again, I’m confused about which part you’re objecting.” 

“Don’t be too much of an asshole,” Bobby grumbled. 

“I guess… I guess it’s… these types, they ain’t strong, Jax. Women… nothing makes an Old Lady rat.”

“Your concern is that you’re afraid Isaak compromises the secrets and safety of the Sons?” Feeling pity, Jax rephrased his question to something that sounded like a legitimate concern. 

“Yeah.” 

Jax was about to answer when Bobby spoke, “Prez, if I may?” Jax nodded. Bobby stood up. “You all know me. You know I’ve seen some shit. Ain’t a lot of shit that phases me no more. I know a lot of tough guys. I’ve served in several wars, several tours before I met John Teller and become a First Nine. I’ve known some hard men in my life. I know all of you. I can tell you, one hand on my heart and the other on my nuts that Isaak is one of the single toughest motherfuckers I have ever met in my life.” He paused and made a split second decision.

“Jax didn’t want to tell you, to not rile you up more, but Galen didn’t just make that tape and send it to every charter, he didn’t just kill a patched member and a prospect. He send a fucking kill squad, a team of six, to kill Isaak. They wore body cams, so that if Jax survived the bombing, Galen would send him a cinematic view of his lover’s execution. Except Galen didn’t do his homework: Isaak grew up an orphan in Soviet Russia. Special forces. Sniper for fifteen years. Six bullets. From their own goddamn guns. And he ships their dead bodies back to the Kings as the biggest fuck-you in IRA memory. And Jax made them take it. Quietly.”

 

Bobby had stunned the room to silence.

“Believe it or not, but when he’s in the room, your ugly mugs ain’t on my mind,” Jax drawled. Chibs snorted. “Look, I don’t actually give a fuck what you all think. My personal life ain’t a democracy. What I expect from you is that uphold your promises to the club, or black out your ink and get my Reaper off your back. You don’t have to change your bylaws, that#s up to each charter. But if we don’t change with the times, the Sons of Anarchy will be a dying breed, or we’ll eventually attract neo-nazi’s and wanna-be serial-killers. This club was founded on anarchy, freedom and autonomy. I suggest we get back to that, to what this club was meant to be. To many that means the freedom to be comfortable. To me it means allowing people to control their own lives.”

“Hear hear.” 

Nods and agreements were filled the room for a few minutes. 

“You said retaliation was handled? How?”

“We called in some favours and aired some of the IRA’s dirty laundry. Their suppliers won’t deal with them anymore. They don’t relish the idea of their children kidnapped, houses bombed or families attacked by kill-squads. Or the Catholic baby-factories…” 

“But without weapons -”

“The IRA is crippled.” Jax nodded. “New distributors will pop out of the woodworks. It will take time, but the IRA will rebuild. In time, we have to wait and see if they honour the peace.”

 

#


End file.
